What Isn't and Can Never Be
by Stolen Butterfly
Summary: AU. always-a-girl!Dean. Closely follows Seasons 1-5 with some minor changes/complications. Eventual Wincest.
1. I

**What Isn't and Can Never Be**

**Summary**: AU. Spoilers for Season 1. always-a-girl!Dean. Eventual Wincest. Het!Wincest at that.

**Author's Note**: First time SPN writer here. All rights belong to Eric Kripke. Also I did use various lines from the actual episodes, too. I acknowledge this has probably been overdone before, but I couldn't resist writing my own genderbend story and changing a few things. I'll just say _probably_ 80% will remain faithful to the actual seasons as this progresses so it goes without saying there will be other pairings.

* * *

Sam wakes up the moment the downstairs window creaks open. The same window where he'd purposefully decorated the sill with Jessica's childhood keepsake ornaments in case of a burglary. No matter how stealth, supernatural or not, the small figurines would be impossible to get around. So when the sound of glass breaking reaches his ears, he knows. Jessica'd rolled her eyes at his paranoia, but she can't understand because she doesn't know about the things he's known about since he was five. She doesn't know about the hidden stash under the floorboards where he keeps his old hunting rifle along with rounds of salt, silver bullets and bags of salt. She doesn't know about the devil traps under the rugs of every entrance, or the small bottle of holy water he keeps in the nightstand drawer, disguised in an inconspicuous bottle of vodka. And she certainly doesn't know about the silver knife with ancient runes etched onto both sides of the blade that could make a demon coil in pain when sliced into the flesh of the human it possesses.

"Sam?" Jess' blue eyes are wide and she feels him stiffen when she reaches for his hand. "What is it?"

"If I'm not back in ten minutes, call the police," he tells her. Jess nods, reading his expression and somehow instinctively knows that now is not the time to argue.

The moment he reaches the bottom of the stairs is when it happens. Suddenly, without warning and before he can even fight against it, there's a solid weight on his chest and a pair of hands holding his arms down, the knife he'd managed to grab without Jessica noticing skirting out of his grasp and falling uselessly to the floor. He blinks when the intruder's blonde long hair smacks him in the face as she leans over him, and when he finds himself staring into dark moss-green irises, his breath falters.

"D-Deanna?" he chokes out, every muscle in his body that was straining, squirming against her, instantly stops, as if his strings had been cut off. Relief floods him. The amulet around the girl's neck confirms it.

The girl above him who can't weigh more than even half of his body mass, yet manages to keep him steadily pinned down, smirks. "You always did have terrible reflexes, kiddo."

Without a second thought, he pulls her to him, panic gone and now replaced with overwhelming happiness. Her frame seems more fragile now than he can ever remember. It scares him to realize his older sister could ever feel so small in his arms.

"Sammy," her voice is hoarse, whether from drinking or lack of sleep he's unsure, perhaps both, he decides. He releases her when he notices how long he's been holding her and that it must feel awkward. Without a word they both stand up and collect their bearings and just stare at one another. Sam immediately picks up on the fact she's wearing their father's old leather jacket, her jeans are torn at the knees, and her hand is bandaged. Her hair is longer (which Sam is admittedly perplexed at; Deanna always said long hair would get in the way while she hunted). Her face is thin, her lips red and raw as if she had been recently chewing them. An old nervous habit Sam remembers.

In seconds overwhelming happiness becomes panic once again. There is no good reason for his sister's unannounced, unexpected visit in the middle of the night. Not in the Winchester family, and certainly not when they haven't seen each other in four years and Sam honestly never thought he would see his father or sister on good terms again.

He always suspected that, if and when they contacted each other, it would be for bad news. Deanna's thin, gaunt appearance says it more than words could express.

"Where's Dad—"

"Sam?" Jess' worried tone from above them cuts Sam off.

Deanna's mouth drops open when she notices Jessica standing at the top of the stairs. Sam turns around and is stunned himself. Jess is only wearing her girl boxers and night shirt, which cuts off at the midriff, the Smurfs emblazoned on the front.

"Well, well, Sammy, glad to see you're no longer a bookworm and actually took my advice." Deanna eyes the taller girl appreciatively. Sam rolls his eyes. Sometimes, he thinks it's all a bluff the way his older sister always makes a show that she prefers the same sex.

Jessica looks confused for a moment when she hears a stranger call her boyfriend Sammy, but then before Sam can explain, she blurts out,

"Deanna? You're Deanna Winchester?" Jessica's tone is incredulous. Disbelief.

Deanna grins, and Sam swears his sister is blushing. "In the flesh, and at your services, darling."

* * *

Jess doesn't even acknowledge her scantily clad appearance is affecting his sister nor that Deanna is blatantly hitting on her. Jess practically accosts Deanna into their kitchen to fetch her a beer, insisting his sister sit down at the table. Sam is a little perturbed how she starts firing off questions like a negotiator. Deanna looks amused but answers them politely. Jess is normally very reserved around new people but around Deanna she's overly animated, inspecting his sister like she would one of her ailing patients. Sam knows it has more to do with the fact there's still so much he hasn't told Jess about his family that must leave her curious.

"I never thought I'd meet you," Jess is saying when Sam zones back into their conversation, "Sam's told me a lot about you, I kind of feel like I already know you."

Deanna's in mid gulp when she chokes. Sam averts his gaze.

"Ah, well," Deanna coughs, gazing down at her beer and looks back up, not even blinking an eye before she blurts out, "no offense sweetheart, but I really need to talk to my brother. _Alone_."

Jessica's expression turns from curiosity to hostility in seconds. "Well, _sweetheart_, sorry to disappoint you, but I love your brother and I'm not leaving any time soon."

"Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it front of her," Sam grits out, amazed how rude his sister can be sometimes. Normally he wouldn't care, in fact, he often would appreciate how cut to the chase skip the bullshit niceties his sister can be. It's something he's always admired about her and wishes he had the guts to do more often himself. He understands Deanna is here to deliver bad news, but that doesn't mean she can disrespect the woman he loves. Though it is nice to hear Jessica out loud tell someone else besides him, she loves him, it's awkward. Because Deanna loves him too, and she actually knows the real him, and everything about him, and Jessica doesn't. He's not so sure if Jessica would even want to be with him anymore if she knew.

If Deanna's taken aback with his comeback or Jess', she doesn't let it show. She looks him in the eye when she says calmly, "Dad's missing, Sam. I haven't seen or heard from him in three weeks."

"So?" he says, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Dad's always left on trips for months on end, he's probably working."

"Dad is on a hunt, Sam," Deanna's green eyes are hard and serious. "_The_ hunt. I haven't heard from him in _three _weeks, you know even for Dad that's suspicious—"

"Hunt?" Jess picks up. Sam stiffens. There were always hunts, but there was always _the _hunt. The one that started it all.

"Y-Yeah, he enjoys hunting for recreation. Deer, fishing, birds," Sam explains. "Old man is stubborn. He'll out camp for months, no civilization."

Deanna shoots him a look that plainly says, _Really think she's gonna buy that?_

Jessica nods, turning back to Deanna in sympathy. "You obviously care a lot about your dad. You need to Sam to go with you to help find him, right?"

Deanna's eyes flicker for a moment with an emotion he's never seen on his sister's face and somehow Jessica can read it clear as day.

"Well you wouldn't be here this late for a social visit," Jessica says matter-of-factly. "Deanna, have you contacted the police yet? Filed a missing person report?"

Sam almost regrets not asking Jessica to leave. He's not sure if he can lie his way out of this one. How best to explain to your girlfriend you can't contact the police because the police can't do jack shit when it comes to the supernatural, and that will only put the authorities on their father's trail, the very last thing the man would want.

"I did." Sam knows instantly she's lying, and he's thankful his sister is covering his ass, like she always has since he could remember. "After a week and no response, I contacted me and Sammy's Uncle Bobby, he's a family friend and a retired federal agent. He's had all his friends searching for our Dad."

"Dee, there's not much we can do then. Bobby's the best for this sort of thing." He wants to swallow the bile rising in his throat. This was bad. Very bad. Deanna would never call Bobby Singer except as a last resort. His sister is way too prideful for her own good to admit needing assistance. He can see the raw desperation in her eyes now when she stares at him, green eyes weary with emotion.

Both Winchesters are too lost in their own separate thoughts to notice Jessica has left the kitchen. And before he knows it, he's back in their bedroom after telling his sister to give him ten minutes to talk to his girlfriend, sort things out and if he's not outside in ten minutes, to leave without him. He is honestly torn. Between the life he wants and the life he no longer wants to be apart of, the life he ran away from four years ago and now it's being forced down his throat again. He's not mad at his sister, if anything, seeing her reminds him of how much he misses her and wishes he'd never left. But his sister, like their father, has embraced the hunter's life fully. Although he loves his sister, he's not a hunter.

"You have to go," Jessica tells him before he can open his mouth as he walks through the doorway of their bedroom. Not more than two hours ago they had fell asleep together wrapped in each other's arms after visiting the local bar a few blocks down, in celebration of his LSAT score and her admittance to medical school. "That's your sister out there. Who drove goodness how long to get here. Palo Alto is a long drive from Louisiana, and it took her _three _weeks to even contact you? Poor girl obviously has tried hard to avoid this. She didn't want to involve you but now she needs your help."

"God, Jess, I love you," he breathes and he does, but this is his sister, who has never asked for help, and has certainly never _begged_ for help like she had downstairs. He's grateful that Jess is not making this harder than it already is. "Besides, knowing my Dad he probably took a long trip with Jose, Jack, and Johnny." Somehow it's become way too easy to lie his father is an alcoholic than outright just telling her.

He wants to. Sam promises himself he will. He just can't decide _when_. Deanna's probably already outside by now, sitting in the Impala impatiently waiting. Counting the minutes. Now's obviously the worst time.

Jessica helps him pack quickly, selecting the appropriate clothing to go hunting. She tells him she'll contact all his professors if he's not back on Monday and postpone his interview too. While she's in the bathroom gathering his shaving kit and toothbrush, he manages to pack his rifle, knife, and handgun in his duffel before she can walk back in.

"Jess, I promise, when I get back, I'll tell you everything." He can read her concern easily, and moreover, he can tell that she knows he's hiding something. He always has and she's not pushed it. Yet. But he realizes now more than ever none of this has been fair to her. He really needs to stop being a damn coward already.

"Oh you most definitely will," she agrees, smiling sadly. "But don't worry about me right now. Just concentrate on taking care of your sister and finding your father. Look, I'm not completely stupid. I know your family and you parted on shitty terms and you both have a lot to be sorry for. Do whatever you have to do to straighten that out, and come back home to me, Samuel John Winchester, or I swear to god I'm leaving you next time you take off with another woman in the middle of the night, sister or not."

He lays a kiss on the corner of her mouth and tells her he loves her, and promises to call everyday.

The black 67' Chevy Impala's familiar purr hits his ears the moment he steps outside. The hinges creak loudly when he opens the passenger door and dumps his bag in the backseat before climbing in. The glove compartment is a lot closer to his knees from the last time he sat here. Deanna glances over, and he can tell she's both relief and surprised to see him sitting next to her.

"I have an interview on first on Monday," he tells her.

"A job interview? Skip it."

"It's an interview for law school, my whole future on a plate," he clarifies.

Deanna laughs.

"Look Dee, I'm not sure if I'll even be much help."

"Sam, shut up for a second and listen," Deanna tosses her phone at him without warning and he barely catches it in time, "listen to the last voicemail."

Knowing it's pointless to argue, he does so. The date on the recording is yesterday, and it's their dad. Initially he's confused why she didn't say anything earlier in the kitchen, but then he gets to the point where the message cuts in and out.

"You know there's EVP on that?"

"Not bad, Sammy. Kinda like riding a bike, isn't it?" She takes back her phone and presses a button, "All right. I slowed the message down, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got."

She presses play and it's clearly the voice of a woman.

"I can never go home," he repeats.

"You know, in almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing."

"I know," he looks away for a moment, closing his eyes. "Dee, I haven't hunted in over _four years_."

"You're still a hunter, Sammy. You were trained and brought up just like me by Dad. You may have sloppy reflexes, but you always were smarter than Dad and me. You don't think I didn't notice the devil traps? The salt lines on the windows? I know you. I bet you keep your weapons under the floorboards too. I know you've been living with Jessica for nearly two years and she has no idea who you really are. So, Sammy, do us both a fucking favor and don't try to lie to me because you can't lie for shit."

Deanna turns away first, staring intently at the steering wheel like it's the most riveting sight ever but he knows she's just lost in her thoughts and building her walls back up. Deanna Winchester doesn't do outbursts like that, and that's the most she has said to him all night, hell, the most in years. Suddenly he feels like a little kid again who just got put in his proper place. God, it was scary as hell how not even their ex-Marine father could not do that as effectively as she could. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and lets out a deep sigh.

He breaks the awkward tension first, choosing his next words carefully and softly. "Just so we're clear: you are bringing me back first thing _Monday _morning, no matter if we find Dad or not. So we got a deal or not?"

Deanna glares at him once last time before putting the car in reverse and barreling out of the driveway of the student housing complex, turning on the radio loud and Sam figures that's as close to a yes he'll get.


	2. II

**AN**: Much thanks to my wonderful beta, Rachel. :)

* * *

Jericho is a good three and a half hours away and Deanna floors the accelerator hoping to make it in two. They only stop once for gas near a local fast food restaurant. She orders a greasy burger and Sam picks a salad. She comments that he's still such a girl and he retorts that he's amazed her arteries aren't clogged up, falling right back into their typical sibling banter as if they had never separated. He picks on her taste in music and she cries blasphemy at his nerve to insult her rock music. Motörhead is turned up obscenely loud in retaliation and he suffers most of the drive listening to her off-pitch voice singing along. He muses if she's aware of how terrible she sounds.

"I still can't believe the audacity of that man," he sighs exasperatedly, "to let you hunt on your own." It's been grating on his nerves since he learned she had hunted on her own in Louisiana for some voodoo gig and he's certain she knows he was bound to bring it up at some point. It went against everything their father had ever taught them and drilled into their heads. Growing up, John Winchester had been resolute they never hunted alone, and that if a hunt should turn south, under no circumstances were they to leave each other. Which is why Sam still can't fathom their father willingly agreeing to part ways.

Deanna swiftly turns defensive, catching onto her brother's petulant tone that he normally reserved solely for their father. "Dude, I'm twenty-six years old! I've hunted on my own for three years now. Remember I've been shooting before you could barely walk."

"Deanna, I know you're capable of hunting. It's just that, you're a girl, traveling by _yourself_, god damn it Dad never cared enough about our welfare, more concerned about these stupid hunts—"

"Sammy," the threat is visible in her terse tone, "I can handle anything. Werewolves. Vampires. Wendigos. Ghouls. Don't you worry about my chastity little bro. We both know that was gone long ago."

"That's not the point," he explains hastily, really not wanting to remember all the times he's nearly walked in on his sister about to have sex back when they had to share a bedroom. Or the numerous occasions that Deanna had threatened murder if he breathed a word to their father whenever she had someone over. Deanna always seemed to attract someone (male mostly but occasionally Sam picked up on the shy, lingering stares girls would give too) wherever they went, partly thanks to her ability to flirt with anyone who glanced her way but mainly because her looks. He'd been around twelve when he became painfully aware of his sister's attractiveness and he simply blamed their family circumstances on how they were raised. After all, she was the only constant female he had been around his entire life so it was only a natural, consequential reaction. Sure, Deanna is far from the innocent vulnerable female archetype, but despite that Sam really hates to think how easy if would be for a petite girl like his sister to become outnumbered.

"The point is, you should not be hunting in the first place. Don't you want something _better _for yourself? Nobody ever walks away from hunting without it haunting them, that is if they don't die first. It's a life of nothing but misery and loneliness. Are you trying to die before you're thirty?"

"You know what they say," Deanna grins coyly at him, "only the good die young."

"At least Uncle Bobby and Dad had a chance at a real, _normal _life before they got involved in hunting. Uncle Bobby and Dad were married and actually got to experience happiness for a while—"

Deanna glowers. "Jesus, Sam, listen to yourself. Marriage is not for everyone. I'm too wayward to even think about being monogamous much less popping out a few kids. You know what _my _happiness is, Sammy? Killing every single god damn supernatural thing out there and preventing what happened to our family from happening to someone else's. You have no idea how many people I've saved. That's my purpose in life, Sam."

"Fine," he grits out, "then at least explain _why_ Dad would break his number one rule."

Deanna considers her brother for a moment. She'd rather hoped they could prolong this conversation long enough so it never happened, but she knows her little brother can be annoyingly stubborn. She sighs.

"I told you. Dad's hunting after the thing that killed Mom. We were together hunting and gathering clues a whole year after you left, then I got hurt because of some damn Egyptian curse that even Bobby couldn't find anything on and was comatose for days. Dad disappeared in search for a cure and when he returned, I don't know, Sammy, whoever or wherever he'd went to must've spooked him out or riled him up so badly because after I got back on my feet, he just insisted we go our separate ways. Like us being together was more dangerous than being apart. I didn't question it."

Of course Deanna would never question a direct order from their father. Deanna has always been all yessirs and never one to question their father's authority. Sam, on the other hand, would've demanded answers and refused to listen until he got an explanation. Deanna, as if reading his mind, then adds sheepishly,

"I'm not like you, Sam. I...maybe I should've pried Dad for more info," she admits reluctantly, and Sam can tell she regrets it too. Because maybe if she had, they would have a better idea where their father was at. "Dad just had that serious ex-Marine mad-eyed look to him and I sure as hell didn't want to blow his casket." She desperately wants to add their father had made a trip to Palo Alto but she doesn't want to bring that up quite yet. Knowing her kid brother, he'd probably be pissed their father never bothered to make his presence known. But she knew even before the trip to Jericho, their father had been to Palo Alto. Anytime a job took him to California, John Winchester always stopped by Palo Alto to spy on Sam. It was an unspoken ritual. Like he was scared something was after her brother and had to check on him. She and her father had exchanged GPS accounts on their phones so they always had a way to track one another in case of them went missing, and when she noticed her father's signal showing up in Palo Alto only a few days after he'd left her that cryptic voicemail, she had no idea what it could've meant. She just pushed it to the back corners of her mind. Until now.

She looks at her brother beside her, noting his stony bitch face and the corners of her mouth curl up. _Definitely never going to mention that little tidbit_, she decides. As much as Sam and her father butted heads, she knew their father always worried and cared about Sam, even if her brother couldn't see past their differences to recognize that truth. Sam catches her stare and opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but Deanna abruptly pulls the Impala to a halt on the shoulder of the road without warning, stepping out of the vehicle. Sam calls after her, watching her sprint towards the two police vehicles blocking the bridge they were about to cross, marked off with yellow tape. He curses in irritation and runs after her.

"Whoa young lady, there is a detour back there—" The police officer blocks his sister path, grabbing her arm to gain her attention. Sam's surprised that his sister doesn't reflexively throttle the man, Deanna hates it when people touch her without permission.

"I just, recognized that vehicle," Deanna gasps breathlessly, expression distraught and eyes turning glossy, "is he okay?"

Fake tears or not, Sam's impressed. His sister plays the distressed female perfectly. Sam finally catches up, wondering what the heck is going on, and as if the officer discerns what she's frantic about, he now addresses his sister with sympathy.

"So you know Troy huh?"

Deanna nods and asks quickly, "what happened?"

"Well we're not sure, it's best if you turn around and take the detour."

Deanna looks like she wants to argue but Sam grabs her hand, curling his fingers around hers, tugging and smiling apologetically at the officer. "Excuse my sister, officer, she and Troy are friends."

"He's disappeared, hasn't he?" Deanna demands, as if she has the right to command a police officer. Sam raises a brow when the police officer actually answers her,

"We're not sure yet, honestly. No sign of struggle, no footprints, no fingerprints. Spotless."

"Please, is there anything I can do to help? None of this is like him," Deanna pleads, and the officer puts a hand on her shoulder and regards Sam fully now, "why don't you two go help my daughter, Amy? She's putting up posters in town as speak. That's really all you can do. We need to keep this area closed off to civilians so we can investigate and found out what happened to your friend."

Deanna nods, wiping her fake tears with the sleeve of her plaid shirt. "Sorry officer, of c-course—"

"I understand," the man says, and Sam notices his nametag reads 'Hein', "she's at the diner."

Deanna turns around, not pulling away from Sam's hand until they get to the car, dropping it naturally once they're ready to climb back into the Impala.

"How in the world did you..." Sam falters.

"It was obvious. All the victims were male and as soon as I saw that abandoned car, I knew it'd happened again. Plus, male authorities are always such suckers for tears," his sister's eyes are dry now, and she's practically glowing with delight. "It's better than sex, Sammy, a woman's ultimate secret weapon."

Sam groans. "I really don't need to know this, Dee."

"Oh please," she continues, amused how red his face is turning, "as if you haven't ever used your boy charms on women before. I still remember that case where this grandma was pawing at you and Dad and I had to save you. With your puppy-eyed looks and my body, we would make one hell of team. Who could resist us?"

"Dee, please," he hides his face in his hands, mortified. "I really don't need the details."

Deanna chuckles. "Please, Sam, I may be a flirt but I still have my standards."

He scoffs. "I'm sure."

"I would never sleep with someone to get information," she deadpans, then adds as an after thought, "unless they're hot. That's totally different."

Sam's positive that is an admittance that she _has_. She turns the ignition on and drives towards the diner while he contemplates the sudden ache in his chest. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and notices he has 1 missed call from Jess. He texts her instead, not wanting to talk to her while his sister is within earshot. He simply types, '_in jericho. love you. sam_.'

Within four hours, after talking to Amy (Deanna and Sam once again are perplexed why people assume they're a couple, Amy seems genuinely shocked to learn that they're brother and sister), scouring the local library and finding an article on a woman named Constance Welch, Sam is pretty optimistic that he knows what they are dealing with. A vengeful spirit but for what exactly, Sam's unsure.

Deanna is the one who picks up on the location of her suicide. She clicks her tongue, sending Sam that determined look she always gets right before they go in for the kill. Only, Sam still has questions, like what any of this has to do with their dad. Reluctantly, he agrees to go back to Sylvania bridge that night.

* * *

Soaked to the bone, smelling like a sewer, and cursing a storm, Deanna finally pulls into the parking lot of a nearby dingy hotel that barely looks like it's holding itself together. The hotel clerk at the front desk greets them as they walk in, the bell above the door announcing their presence, and Deanna hands the woman her fake credit card that reads Rhonda Aframian. The woman reads it.

"You having some reunion or something?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asks sharply.

"I had another guy, Burt Aframian, he came and bought a room for a whole month."

Deanna looks at her brother.

Minutes after accepting the keys to their room ("All I have is a king size bed," the clerk apologized when Deanna asked for two beds), Sam keeps a look out while his sister picks the lock of the room their father had occupied. Deanna flashes him a triumphant grin when the door finally opens, and they step inside quickly before anyone walks by. Every vertical surface of the room has papers pinned to them: maps, newspaper clippings, pictures, notes, and even pieces of string connecting everything together in some intricate webbing that Deanna studies for a moment and comprehension dawns on her face. Meanwhile Sam glances over the assortment of books on the desk and nightstand, recognizing his father's handwriting on some of the pages. Nothing significant unfortunately.

Sam notices the salt lines and Deanna picks up the half-eaten burger by the nightstand, her face scrunching up in disgust at the odor before dropping it. She stands there, face stoic with her hands on her hips, green eyes assessing.

"I don't think he's been here for a couple of days at least," she says at last, breaking the silence between them.

Sam snorts. "You think?" He points out the cats-eye shells, and gestures to the salt lines on the ground. "He was definitely worried, trying to keep something from coming in."

Deanna crosses the room walking purposefully towards him and he shoots her a look. She ignores it and rips one of the papers off the wall behind him, biting her lower lip. She hands it to him.

"Centennial Highway victims," she reminds him.

Sam studies the pictures and names of the victims, all from diverse backgrounds that he can't formulate any connection. Deanna sighs loudly, frustrated.

"I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"

He looks at the papers pinned to the walls, one in particular catching his eyes. The familiar scrawl of John Winchester is unmistakable.

"Dad figured it out," he remarks, taping the scrap of paper that reads 'woman in white' with his finger along with the same article they'd found earlier in the library. "Constance Welch is the woman in white."

The woman in white had different versions, depending on which country, Sam faintly recalls. But all the versions had one particular detail in common: a betrayed woman whose spouse or lover had either cheated on or killed her, and out of revenge, the spirit of the scored woman would seek out other unfaithful men or misogynists and punish them.

"Those sly dogs," his sister grins, tucking a loose hair behind her ear. "Of fucking course. Dad would've found her corpse and burned it by now, though. Too easy."

"Maybe he missed something," Sam shrugs. "Maybe she had a piece of jewelry, anything that her spirit can still connect with."

"No, no," Deanna shakes her head adamantly, "Dad's better than that. Better than you and me, combined. He's a pro at this, he wouldn't miss a thing."

"Well, we'll have to ask her husband," Sam quips thoughtfully, noticing the next article pinned up. "Joseph Welch. If he's still alive."

"Awesome," Deanna runs a hand through her still wet hair, "you look up an address, I'm gonna go back to our room and take a shower. I smell like a toilet." Sam chokes back a laugh but she notices anyway and sends him a miffed look and Sam's certain he hears her mutter 'bitch' and 'burn' before she exits the room.

* * *

He's in the middle of researching Joseph Welch's residence when his sister steps out of the shower, dressed in one of their dad's old Marine shirts that falls past her knees, hair damp and smelling of flowers. When she bends down to dig something out of her duffel bed, Sam yelps.

"Jesus Christ, Dee, could you please—"

Deanna blushes and actually looks embarrassed.

"Sorry Sammy, not used to sharing a room anymore." She puts on a pair of gym shorts over her underwear. Which are short and still show off her trimmed legs. "Though, c'mon, it's not like you haven't seen the opposite sex in their underwear. Your girlfriend is way out of your league, by the way."

"You practically eye-raped her," he accuses dryly.

"The girl was prancing around in her underwear! Besides, I know she's off-limits, I respect other people's committed relationships," she replies. "Besides, I'm proud. I was beginning to worry you were gonna be a virgin forever. Glad to see college fixed that."

The floor fails to open up and swallow him and she proceeds.

"I had to share a room with you growing up. Oh trust me, you weren't as quiet as you thought when you jerked off. Only virgins jerk off that much."

"We are having this inappropriate discussion, why?"

"Because I'm your big sister and it's my job to fuck with you," she replies smugly. He throws one of his dirty socks at her, but it falls too short and Deanna shrugs nonchalantly before plopping down on the bed and turning the television on. Minutes later he hears loud moaning emitting from the television and he almost loses it. He slams his laptop shut loudly. She doesn't notice.

"Could you, er, not do that with me in the room?" He marvels at how his sister can't see the apparent wrongness of watching porn while one's brother is in the same room.

"All right, sorry," she concedes, turning it off, "I'll admit I've gotten a bit spoiled not having to share a room with anyone anymore these last three years."

"Well, in less than 48 hours, you can go back to watching your porn uninterrupted," he mutters.

Deanna frowns. "Monday. Right. The interview."

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some hot-shot lawyer? Marry your girl?" Her moss-green eyes scrutinize him and Sam all of a sudden feels edgy, like he's on trial.

"Maybe. Why not?"

"Jessica doesn't even know who you really are! Christ, Sammy, I'm no expert on long-term relationships here, but even _I _know that isn't something you should keep to yourself. The whole honesty mumbo jumbo crap . Sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are."

"Like you said, you're definitely no expert," he repeats icily, "all your relationships never last more than one night."

"Oh fuck you," she snarls. Sam instantly regrets the words the second they leave his mouth but it's too late to admit remorse over it. Deanna slams him roughly against the fading wallpaper of the hotel room, the walls rattling. For a woman who is only a mere five feet two inches, Sam's honestly a bit scared. Very few have lived to tell of the wrath of Deanna Winchester.

"Dee, I didn't mean—"

"I know," she spits out, eyes glittering dangerously like a knife, her bony elbow digging into his clavicle as she holds him against the wall. Sam may have grown taller and greatly outweigh her, but Deanna always did have agility on her side, thanks to her short, small stature. She's too fast for him to predict her next move, so he doesn't attempt to fling her off. "I know, Sammy. I'm just, trying to help. If you're really serious about Jess, you need to tell her. To protect her."

"I have," he whispers pleadingly, "I made sure to lay the salt lines before I left. I'm not stupid."

"No, Sam, sneaking around doesn't count. Dad didn't do that with us, if he had, we probably both be dead now. He _trained_ us to defend ourselves."

"Train?" he wants to laugh. "You want me to _train_ Jess? Jesus Christ, Deanna. I'm not Dad, I'm not gonna treat someone I love like a soldier."

"It's the same thing as training a girl to defend herself against rapists! It's not brain science, kid. You bring an innocent civilian into this mess, you better fucking protect them, and that means training them to protect themselves, because, news flash, you can't always be there to do salt lines for them," she mocks him, releasing her grip on him and stalking back over to the bed, rummaging through her duffel.

"I am _not_ one of you. I'm not bringing Jess into _anything_."

She slips on her hoodie, stepping into her jeans. "I know." She grabs the keys and slams the door loudly behind her. Sam closes his eyes and decides he's way too tired to follow her, much less argue anymore. He's so riled up he can't even concentrate on doing more research for the case. Eventually after two hours and no sign of his sister returning any time soon, he climbs into the bed and finds sleep.

He dreams of fire licking his skin.


End file.
